


A Road Trip to the Sun

by Tentygal



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Road Trips, Sheith is married and nothing hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 16:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16162187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tentygal/pseuds/Tentygal
Summary: Shiro and Keith chase an eclipse ft. cockroaches, cherry pie, and giant paintballs.





	A Road Trip to the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for my discord peeps, even if they don't remember talking about it 
> 
> lmk if u want me to fix any typos

“Keith, you got the glasses, right?”

“Yeah, they’re in the black backpack,” Keith calls back to Shiro, zipping up his duffle bag. He hears footsteps on the stairs outside his door and then Shiro’s padding into the room, looking slightly flustered and carrying a rolled up map.

“Ok--we’ve got the glasses, snacks, sunscreen, water, the gas tank is full--oh, handsanitizer…I think we’re set, once you get your bag in the car.”

“Well, I’m done now, so let’s go.” Keith straightens up. “This is gonna be awesome.”

“Yeah,” Shiro smiles. “I’m glad you’re coming with me this time.”

Keith steps over to his husband and shifts slightly on the balls of his toes so that he can wind his arms around Shiro’s neck. “Me, too.”

Shiro kisses him softly, bumping their noses together until Keith pulls away with a laugh. “Shiro, that’s gay.”

  
“I can’t help it--it’s almost like we’re homosexual males that have been married for three years.”

“You raise a valid point.” Keith disentangles himself and grabs his bag. “But let’s get going--we’ve got a six hour drive.”

“Are you driving first, or me?”

  
“If I drive, does that mean you’re in charge of the music?”

“Yes?”

“Then you’re driving first. There’s no way I can listen to Nickleback in broad daylight.”

“Just because Nickleback became a meme doesn’t mean they don’t have some genuinely good songs…!”

They bicker companionably as they finish loading the car and locking up the house, then Shiro slides into the driver’s seat and hands Keith the map. “So, I’ve highlighted our route here, plus I circled places where we can rest and stuff. And we’ll meet up with everyone else there.”

“You mean your solar squad?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry--you’re gonna love them.”

“We only have to see them, like, every ten years. I already love them.”

“Keith.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

In truth, Keith’s slightly nervous. This will be his first time pursuing a solar eclipse’s path of totality, but Shiro’s been hardcore about them for years. He’s developed a network of people that meet up at most notable celestial events--work schedules permitting--and they’re close in a casual way that frankly baffles Keith, who prefers truly intimate friendships and minimal, structured social situations. Still, he’s willing to make the sacrifice for Shiro, and looking forward to taking a vacation, however short it may be.

“How did you get into eclipse-chasing, again?” he asks, more to distract himself from thinking about the imminent meeting than because he doesn’t know the answer.

Shiro shrugs. “I’ve just always been into this stuff. When I was a kid, my mom would drive me to this space center near our house where you could use the telescopes for free, and I just decided that I wanted to do more of that when I got older. I mean, you knew all that already. My roommate in college--remember Matt?--was also really into it and we would drive together to watch meteor showers and stuff, so it became this bigger thing, I guess.”

“Oh.”

“Fascinating, I know.”

“No, no, you know I like hearing about your, uh...youth, and stuff. Before you became a boring old man.”

Shiro gasps in mock offense. “How dare you, you equally boring and old man?”

“I’m--oh hey, turn right here.”

They swerve onto the highway and lapse into comfortable silence, letting their argument fade into the sound of traffic. Keith rummages around in his backpack for the AUX cord and manages to get the finicky Bluetooth setup working, Shiro rolls down the windows, and the first few miles go by perfectly.

“Shiro.”

“Mh?”

“Why aren’t we using GPS?”

“It’s more fun this way!”

“But I can’t nap if you need me to read the directions.”

  
“There’s coffee in that travel mug.”

“That’ll make me have to pee.”

“We’re stopping in, like, an hour, Keith.”

“Wayside bathrooms are gross.”

“How would you know?”

“My dad used to make me go camping with him.”

“Well, stop whining, then. This is way better than camping--the motel’ll have showers.”

\---

Six hours and three (thankfully unmemorable) rest stops later, they arrive at the motel that Shiro’s indicated on the map. Keith is sulking slightly because Shiro wouldn’t let them stop for cherry pies on the side of the road, but other than that, they’ve made good time. Keith flops onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh. “Who knew driving could be so fucking exhausting?” 

 

Shiro ignores him, opting instead to start brushing his teeth.

 

“I’m tired, I don’t have cherry pie,  _ and  _ my incredibly handsome and lovely husband won’t complain with me about it.” 

 

“Hey, at least we ate at that diner you wanted to go to,” Shiro points out, “even though I’m pretty sure that deep-fried sandwich took, like, ten years off my life.” 

 

“ _ Guy Fieri  _ himself endorsed that sandwich; you couldn’t have  _ not  _ ordered it,” Keith argues, sitting up to admire the sight of his husband stripping off his shirt. 

 

“True, true. I would give it a solid 10/10 for ambience, too. Very motorcycle-chic.” 

 

“If by ‘chic’ you mean ‘tasteless with a side of leather,’ then sure.” 

 

“Oh, I didn’t know we were talking about your aesthetic now.” 

 

“Say that to my face, big guy,” Keith retorts, “we both know you love my motorcycle jacket.” 

 

“I never said I didn’t.” 

 

“Uh huh.” 

 

“Anyway--we’re gonna have an early start tomorrow: you wanna check out the significantly-better-than-camping-amenities and go to sleep?” 

 

Keith makes a noncommittal noise and slouches into the bathroom. For a few seconds there’s silence, then a hair-raising shriek: “Shiro, there’s a cockroach in here!” 

 

“Uh, gross. Don’t expect me to come near that Devil’s spawn.” 

 

“ _ You  _ checked us into this sus motel;  _ you  _ are in charge of the de-bugging.”    
  


“Just turn the water on and flush it out.” 

 

“ _ It’s too big for the drain.”  _

 

Shiro approaches the bathroom reluctantly. Although he’s well over six feet, and Keith’s a literal cop, the two of them share the same embarrassing and debilitating fear of bugs. He thinks longingly of his college days, when Matt, who loved bugs and took entomology classes that were completely outside of his physics major “just for fun,” would deal with whatever spiders and roaches and mosquitoes wound up in their dorm room. Granted, Matt had the decidedly  _ less  _ charming predilection for keeping said bugs in a row of jars on the windowsill, but still. In the dingy bathroom, the roach sits innocently atop the soap caddy of the cracked motel shower, feelers moving as if in greeting. 

 

“Oh Jesus.” Shiro stops, just behind Keith, and puts his hands on the other man’s shoulders as he peers cautiously into the shower. “I think that thing clears four inches.” 

 

“If we smash it, do you think it’ll get stuck to the soap dish, or the shoe?” 

 

“Let’s hope for the shoe.” 

 

“ _ Your  _ shoe.” 

 

“Yours are heavier.” 

 

“Shiro, we are  _ not  _ using my Docs for this. They deserve better and they were, like, over a hundred dollars.” 

 

“Ugh--fine. But you pay for all the gas tomorrow.”    
  


“Done.” 

 

Retrieving his shoe takes less than a minute and all too soon Shiro is back on the edge of the tub, facing down the insect. He gulps. 

 

“Any day now,” Keith taps his foot against the tile floor.

 

Shiro doesn’t deign to reply, focusing instead on the roach. He raises the shoe, steels himself, and brings it down with a hard  _ thwap _ , right as the roach flashes out of the path of danger and lands on the edge of the tub, inches from Keith’s shin. The younger man swears and jumps backward, but Shiro has already wound up again, he lets the shoe fly--

 

\--smashing the insect right into Keith’s leg. 

 

“Shirogane Takashi, you are so dead.” Keith speaks in a hushed tone and Shiro almost wishes he would yell. “I am letting you live right now because this eclipse is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Keith continues, “and I know how much it means to you. But when we get back home, you are paying for my pants and my therapy, then you are going to the ground.” 

 

The two of them stare in shocked, fascinated horror at the crusty smear on Keith’s jeans that was a cockroach just seconds before. 

 

“Baby, I--” 

 

“Shh.” With an air of detached disgust, Keith slowly peels the pancake from his knee and drops it into the waste bin. He washes his hands and begins to undress with the same shock-sluggish movements, sparing a mournful glance for his stained pants. 

 

Shiro leaves him to it. 

 

\---

The next day, they hit the road early, opting to find their own breakfast rather than brave the oily coffee and ancient-looking muffins set up in the entrance of the motel. 

“Ooh--look, a diner. Wanna stop and see if they have cherry pie?” 

“I’m not forgetting about the roach, Shiro, but nice try.” 

“Come on, maybe we can just get doughnuts to go, then. That’s a cop thing, right?” 

“Doughnuts are an everyone thing. How much longer is the drive?” 

“About four hours, I think.”    
  


“Shit, yeah, let’s stop.” 

They park the car between an SUV and a rusted truck, reminding Keith once again of how far they are from home.  _ Their  _ home, that is-- _ he’s _ used to the midwestern, small-town aesthetic of these places, to the men that show up to dinner in cowboy hats and button-downs. It makes him momentarily nostalgic, then he remembers the abysmal wifi, single movie theater, and deplorable lack of Chinese take-out that defined his teenage years. Inside, the diner is everything a classic, all-American establishment should be. The surfaces gleam chrome and mint plastic, there’s a grimy soda counter, and the booths of cracking leather are filled with burly men wearing a mixture of motorcycle gear and Carhartt plaid. 

A plump waitress seats them within seconds and hands them coffee without asking. Shiro beams at her; she blushes to the roots of her mousy hair. Keith buries his nose steadfastly in his menu.  _ Every time.  _

“You boys need a minute?” 

“Actually, Susan, I think we’re ready,” Shiro twinkles. “I’ll have the classic breakfast, and my partner here would like buttermilk pancakes, if you have them. And we’ll take a slice of cherry pie to go, when you have the chance.” He nods at the display case at the front of the restaurant. 

The waitress doesn’t seem taken aback by the quick order--she must be used to regulars that know exactly what they want. “Alright, I gotcha,” Susan finishes transcribing the order with a flourish. “We’ll bring that right out.”    
  


Keith bristles as he hands back the menu. “You ordered for me.” 

“Were pancakes the wrong choice? I can call her back--” 

“No, you bastard, of  _ course  _ I was gonna order pancakes,” Keith huffs. It is, afterall, the  _ principle  _ of the thing. “Why are you so goddamn perfect all the time? And  _ Susan?  _ Really? You just had to call her by name, huh?”    
  


Shiro just laughs. “It makes people happy to feel like you notice them, Grumpypants. Just drink your coffee; maybe you’ll feel human after a cup or two. And--just for the record--being nicer than you have to be costs zero dollars.” 

“It costs me my dignity, is what it costs.” 

“How’d you figure that?” 

“I have to put up with people oggling my cute husband just because he smiled at them and took the time to read their name tag.” 

“Aww, baby, are you jealous?” Shiro reaches across the table to cup Keith’s reluctant cheeks in his hands. “Awe you wowwied that someone’s gonna steaw your man? You know you’re the only one for meeee….” 

“ _ Shiro. _ ” They are attracting stares; Keith’s mortified beyond belief. 

Oblivious--or maybe he’s just long-accepted that he has no dignity left to lose--Shiro gets up and slides into Keith’s side of the the booth, embracing him tightly. “You know, it’s funny-- sometimes  _ I  _ feel like people are oggling  _ my  _ incredibly cute and talented husband, especially when he’s wearing a certain pair of black skinny jeans and badass boots….” He nuzzles into the soft space below Keith’s ear.    
  


“Well, fear no more.  _ Someone  _ ruined those pants last night, so it looks like my days of being the local heartthrob are over.” 

“You’ll always be  _ my  _ local heartthrob. C’mere, gimme a kiss.” 

“No.” 

“Keeeeith.” 

Behind them, someone clears their throat. “Classic breakfast set and a large stack of buttermilk pancakes?” 

“Oh, Susan!” Shiro turns around with no trace of embarrassment. “Thank you so much; let me take those plates from you.” 

They eat elbow-to-elbow. Keith refuses to make eye-contact with anyone. 

\---

After breakfast, the drive continues in its usual way along country back roads: 

 

“Keith--is that a baby cow?” 

“It’s a calf, yeah.” 

“Oh my God, look at that baby cow. That’s the cutest baby cow I’ve ever seen.” 

“Frolicking and living life, totally unaware that one day it will become a hamburger.” 

“ _ Keith. _ ” 

“...A very delicious hamburger.” 

\---

“Shiro, take the next exit.” 

“Wait, is that really what the route says? I thought we still had a few more miles….” 

“It’s not...strictly on the route.” 

“....” 

“Come on, Shiro, let’s go see the world’s largest paintball!” 

“Why, pray tell, the fuck does that exist. Wait, no--why, pray tell, do you  _ know  _ that that exists and where it is.” 

“It was practically a legend where I grew up!” 

“A giant paintball in the some random cornfield. Was a legend. In your town.” 

“Midwest kids make do,” Keith shrugs, “it’s not like there was much entertainment aside from ‘random cornfields.’” 

“Ok, we can stop for the chance to learn more about your youth before you became, and I quote, ‘a grumpy old man.’” 

“ _ Boring  _ old man.” 

“Well, I don’t think anyone could accuse of being that,” says Shiro, casting a fond glance across the cupholder at his husband, who sits with his knees tucked up on the seat and his chin on the window ledge. The rising sun lends his face a buttery glow and makes his not-quite-naturally black hair gleam. 

They pull off the main road and onto a bumpier dirt path, parking not in a field, but in front of a nondescript clapboard house. Through the open door, Shiro can make out what looks like a giant, flesh-colored testicle dangling from chain attached to the ceiling. He wrinkles his nose. “That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” Keith sounds genuinely excited. “It was blue the last time I came, though. The owner paints it every day.” 

“Jeeze, that must take forever.” 

“Uh huh. Too bad we can’t stay to watch.” 

Upon closer inspection, Shiro sees that the bottom half of the ball is covered in gentle bumps, presumably where paint dripped, gathered, and solidified. He finds the overall effect even grosser than first glance. 

“So we just...go ahead and paint it?” He gestures lamely at the row of buckets on the side of the room.    
  


“Well, you have to make an appointment usually, but pretty much.” Keith waves at an elderly man that Shiro hadn’t noticed, seated behind a wooden desk on the other side of the room. “Mike knows me, though.” 

“Welcome back, Keith. It’s good to see you again. Go right ahead and paint as much as you want.” 

“Thanks, Mike.” 

“How many times have you done this?” Shiro whispers incredulously, as Keith helps himself to one of the elongated rollers propped against the wall and a bucket of red paint.

“It was my favorite first date spot.” Keith’s cheeks pink. “I used to come here with all of my crushes. You don’t have to talk much, but it’s more fun than a movie….” 

“You are  _ such  _ a nerd.” 

“Shut up.” 

“No, I think it’s adorable.” Shiro briefly touches Keith’s back as he reaches for his own roller and adds softly, “Thank you for sharing it with me.” 

They paint in thoughtful silence for awhile, Mike making no effort to chat from his desk.  _ I can see why Keith likes this,  _ Shiro finds himself admitting. The work is hard enough to be a distraction, yet oddly soothing. And of course, any place where the staff isn’t too talkative is a plus in Keith’s book. 

  
“Hey, Keith--look at this.” Shiro’s painted an obnoxiously large red heart with his fingers in the remaining peachy space. With a flourish, he writes in their initials, outsized, as though they are in middle school again. 

_ “Shiro can you please not be embarrassing for two seconds?”  _ Keith looks like he’s steaming; Shiro pretends not to notice. 

After they finish their coat, Shiro insists on buying an “I Painted the World’s Largest Paintball in Indiana” shirt, although Keith flatly refuses his own (“What if people think I’m a tourist?”). He does, however, buy one of the slivers of paintball. (“I get one every time I come,” he tells Shiro. “It’s cool because you can see how the layers are different in some places, and how it’s building up.” Shiro feels his heart squeeze a little bit.) They bid their goodbyes to Mike and get back on the road. 

“So there you have it,” Keith says, turning the chunk of paint over in his fingers and not quite meeting Shiro’s eyes. “Midwestern kids make do.” 

“It was fun.” Shiro’s surprised to find that he means this genuinely, and he’s more touched than he’ll admit that Keith took him to a place that clearly means something to him. It’s rare for Keith to show this more vulnerable side of himself. “Really.” He leans over and presses a kiss to Keith’s cheek. 

“Just keep your eyes on the road, idiot.” 

But even though he’s turned towards the window, Shiro can see the edge of Keith’s smile. 

\---

 

Around noon they pull into their final stop. They’ll spend the day on what sightseeing exists, then stake out where Shiro wants to watch the eclipse and sleep under the stars.  _ Not a bad plan on the whole _ , he congratulates himself. 

“Keith, would you mind getting the black backpack out of the trunk? I want to put on some sunscreen before we walk around too much.” 

Keith rolls his eyes (“We’re gonna die from eating too many instant noodles before skin cancer, Shiro”), but gets out of the car to rummage around in the trunk while Shiro double checks the list of attractions he researched before the trip. 

“Uh, Shiro, we might have a problem.” 

“Mh hm.” Shiro’s not really listening, more engrossed in whether or not “World’s Best Mashed Potatoes” is a claim that can be trusted--probably not--than whatever his husband’s doing in the trunk. Keith is, afterall, a cop; he’s handled worse than leaky water-bottles. Not listening, that is, until Keith climbs back into the passenger seat and shoves the backpack under Shiro’s nose. 

His first impression is that someone’s left a severed body part a la Van Gogh in there, and he jerks backwards before inhaling the heady, slightly damp scent of fermenting food. Somehow, over the course of four and a half hours on the bumpy road, the takeout container has sprung open, and cherry pie, now sticky magenta mush, is seeping through everything. It’s...more than they can handle without a sink. 

“Well I guess we’re even for your pants now,” Shiro manages. 

“What? No way; you bought that pie yourself.” 

“For you, though.” 

Keith is silent for a moment, then, before Shiro’s horrified eyes, he drags a finger through the mess and licks it. “Not bad.” 

“Keith, you do know that there are probably, like, pencil shavings and stuff in the bottom of that bag.” 

“Mm, you can’t really taste those.” 

“ _ Lead  _ pencil shavings.” 

“Crunchy.” 

“I really feel like you’re missing the point here.” 

“Shh, shh,” Keith admonishes. “Here,” he brings a pie-covered finger up to Shiro’s mouth, “try it.” 

And this is what’s so unfair about Keith: that they’ve been married for three years, together for six, and he still-- _ still _ \--has the capacity to make Shiro blush like a schoolgirl. For a moment everything seems to go still as he sucks the pie tentatively off of Keith’s finger. “See?” Keith breathes, “it’s good, huh?” Shiro is acutely aware of how close their faces are. Keith leans towards him, violet eyes gleaming, Shiro parts his lips slightly….They are interrupted by a loud, decisive knocking on the driver’s window. Shiro whips around, praying that he isn’t as red as he feels, and finds himself facing an elderly woman in a sun visor. She raps the glass again, until he rolls down the window. 

“Are y’all leaving?” she asks sweetly, “I’m looking for a parking space and I’m afraid everything’s all booked up. Your lights are still on, so I was wondering….” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, we’re using this one,” he apologizes, trying to ignore the way Keith’s covertly stroking his thigh. “We’re just getting out now.” To prove his point, he unbuckles his seatbelt, casting Keith a warning glare. 

“You boys from out of town?” she asks, seeming to notice the strewn maps and empty water bottles for the first time. 

  
“Yes, we’re actually here for the eclipse tomorrow.”    
  


“Oh, yes, lots of folks seem to be coming in for that. Must be why it feels so crowded,” she laughs. “Well, you have fun tomorrow. I hope you enjoy your stay in our little town here.”    
  


They nod and smile politely while she works her way out from between the cars, then Shiro turns back to Keith, who’s wearing an expression of supreme innocence. “What?”    
  


“You know what.” 

“I just wanted to show you that the pie’s still totally edible!” 

“Uh huh?”

“Uh huh.” 

“Well, please bear in mind that we’ll be eating lunch in public, so just let me be the judge of whether or not my food’s edible, okay?”    
  


“Of course, Shiro, whatever you say,” Keith grins, the picture of sincerity. “I would never dream of contradicting you... _ Daddy.”  _

“Jesus Christ Keith--”    
  
“Kidding, kidding--let’s actually go though; I’m starving.” 

They wind up at the largest of the three restaurants on Main Street, the one that serves the “World’s Best Mashed Potatoes.” Shiro feels his excitement mounting as Keith scans the menu--the bar is full of people that are clearly here for the eclipse:  _ his  _ people. They are identifiable by their shirts, emblazoned with the names of other celestial events and gatherings, or the nerdy khaki hats dangling from the backs of their chairs, or the snippets of conversation that he can hear from their tables: “the last total eclipse I saw was in India--”, “my friend brought his telescope--”, “my mother-in-law said she would help out with the kids if I brought her pictures….” His quiet observation is interrupted by a nudge at his elbow. 

“Are you ready to order?” asks Keith, setting down his menu. 

“I think so, yeah.” 

“Okay, good, because it looks like that blonde waitress is about to come over here, and you know how much I hate doing the talking.”    
  
“Your fave is problematic: won’t even order his own food.” 

“Your fave is problematic: mocks the very real social anxiety of his loving husband.” 

“Sorry.” Shiro reaches over to ruffle Keith’s hair. “What do you want?”    
  


“Chili and a side of nachos. Oh shit--here she comes.”    
  


Shiro orders for them, making his best effort, for Keith’s sake, not to chat up the waitress about the eclipse. As soon as she leaves, Keith starts busily unwrapping straws. 

  
“What are you doing?” asks Shiro.

“Magic caterpillars.” Keith finishes scrunching up his straw wrapper and lets a drop or two of water fall on it, making the paper swell dramatically. “Here, give me yours.” 

“What are you, twelve?” 

“If I say yes, can we bring back the Daddy thing?” 

“No.” 

“You’re no fun.” Keith grabs Shiro’s straw anyway, deftly unwrapping it and performing the same trick. Out of paper, he starts to mess with the sugar packets instead, stacking them by color. Shiro watches him half charmed, half exasperated.    
  


“You’re so fidgety today--nervous?” 

“Um, no I’m fine.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You know, if this is about meeting people tomorrow, don’t worry about it. A bunch of them are bringing their significant others; you won’t be the only new guy.”

“Who’s gonna be there?” 

“Uh...well, it’s hard to say. I mean, I steer clear of Facebook because I like to be surprised, but probably Lance and Allura; they’re pretty hardcore about this stuff. Hunk, Pidge, who you’ve met, and that’s about it.” 

“Ok...so...what are they like?” 

Shiro has to think for a moment. He doesn’t much keep track of his “solar squad” outside of celestial events. Sure, they follow each other on social media and send the occasional nerdy email, and of course he sees Pidge nearly as often as he sees Matt, but the thing that’s always been so special about these friends is that they  _ don’t  _ spend that much time together. Somehow, things just fall into place when they meet up and drift on passively when they don’t. And Shiro’s never described them to Keith because...he liked having something that was his own. Not that sharing anything with Keith has ever been a problem--it’s pretty par for the course in marriage--but the two of them have their fair share of private rituals and indulgences and fears, and Shiro likes it like that. It makes him appreciate what he does have of Keith. There’s certainly no trust lost between them. 

“Well…” he begins hesitantly, “Lance and Allura live in Florida. They’ve been together for about five years; they met in grad school. Lance is an astrophysicist and Allura works at a zoo, and also does something research-related. I think. Lance is pretty...outgoing, and Allura’s a little on the calmer side, but the two of them together are definitely high energy. Also I think Lance was a ballroom dancer or something when he was younger, so don’t be surprised if he brings that up. He can be sort of competitive.” 

“Can’t relate,” remarks Keith drily. 

“Yeah--please don’t make a scene. There’s gonna be a lot of alpha male energy between you two, but that won’t be a problem, right?” 

“Sure, as long as he accepts that he’s beta.”

“You haven’t even met him yet, Keith.” 

“Whatever, go on.” 

“Um, okay. Hunk’s a total nerd; I think he does data processing or analysis or programming or something for a bigshot company and he’s really into amateur cooking, too. Literally the nicest guy ever--actually, he’s the only one that I really follow on Instagram because he posts the best food porn. Oh, he might bring his girlfriend, too. I think her name’s Shay, but we’ve never met. Um, what else...he and Pidge were really good friends in high school and they can be kind of a lethal duo, so be prepared for sarcasm and stuff.” 

“Oh gee, sarcasm, wonder what that’s like.” 

“You say it like it’s a joke, but together they’re the pettiest and shadiest people I know. Like, before they were friends, Hunk stole Pidge’s diary and read the whole thing.” 

“And lived to tell the tale?” 

“Well--most of him.” 

Keith whistles. “Ok, so--no messing with Hunk. Noted.” 

“I mean, like I said: nicest guy ever.” 

“Sure. I’m just glad I left my diary at home.” 

“Do me a favor and don’t mention that....” 

“Gotcha. That’s it?” 

“Yeah, I mean, what else do you want to know?” 

“Short of writing me a script, I guess that’ll have to do.” 

“Hey--you’re gonna be fine. Worse comes to worst, it’ll be, like, completely dark for a solid two minutes, so you could just run for the hills.” 

“Thanks; that’s actually a pretty decent plan.” 

“I try to be a problem-solver.” 

“And I love that about you.” 

Before they can get too disgusting, an enormous plate of mashed potatoes arrives, along with Keith’s order and a salad, because Shiro insists that they eat vegetables at least once a week. (“Babe, you’ll get constipated otherwise, please just have a carrot.” “...It’ll make our road trip more efficient if we have to take fewer stops.”) The food is rich and comforting; it tastes like an all-American heart attack in the best way possible. Even before they’ve finished, Shiro can feel himself crashing into a post-meal coma.

“Hey, wanna ditch the sightseeing and take a nap in the car?” he suggests. “There’ll be enough room if we recline our seats all the way.” 

“I’m feeling pretty restless right now, Shiro. I think I’m gonna walk around. You should definitely nap, though; you’ve been driving all day.” Keith squeezes his hand from across the table. “You have to rest up for your big nerd moment tomorrow.” 

“Sounds good. Where are you going?” 

“Oh, you know…” Keith gestures vaguely. “Just lookin’ around, I guess.” 

Shiro wonders if his husband can hear the way his country accent is slipping back. Probably not, otherwise he’d be working harder to correct it. Shiro makes a mental note to say nothing, and wonders if he can get away with buying Keith a cowboy hat, too. They go their separate ways and Shiro knocks out pretty much as soon as he lies down. 

\---

When he wakes up again, the sun is beginning its descent and Keith’s sitting beside him, reading quietly. He looks up at the sound of Shiro shifting and smiles down at him, soft and fond. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hi,” Shiro smiles back. “What time is it?” 

“About 8 o’clock. I guess you were a lot more tired than you realized.”    
  


“Yeah, I really blacked out.”   
  


“You hungry?” 

“Mm, not really. You must be, though, right?” 

Keith shrugs. “I had a snack around 5 so I’m good.” 

Shiro pops his back and rubs a bit more sleep out of his eyes. “What’re you reading?”    
  


“That book you recommended about NASA.” 

“Oh, cool. How do you like it?” 

“It’s good; I’m learning a lot. Wanna have something smart to say to your nerdy friends tomorrow, you know?” 

Shiro wiggles across the seat until he can put his head in Keith’s lap. This requires his upper body to be rather uncomfortably draped across the cup holder, but it’s worth it when Keith puts down his book and starts petting his head gently. “You’re super smart, you know.” 

“In a different way, though.” 

“Equally,” says Shiro firmly. “Idiots don’t become police officers.” 

“Theoretically.” 

“You did marry me; I guess that could point to some distant brain trauma.”    
  


“Shirogane Takashi,” Keith leans down to press a kiss to Shiro’s forehead. “Marrying you was the smartest decision I ever made.” 

“Have you been watching teen romcoms again?” 

Keith sits up with a scowl. “Jeez, I take it back.” 

“You know I love it when you say stuff like that.” 

“Can we just move on? I feel embarrassed now.” 

“Okay--let’s go find our spot then.” 

“Can I drive?” 

Shiro obligingly gets out of the car and walks to Keith’s side, while Keith hops awkwardly over the center console. 

“Know where we’re going?” 

  
“Yeah, I think we’ll have the best luck somewhere on the edge of town.” 

“Okay then, lead on.” 

They cruise around in silence, listening to the sound of crickets and the town falling asleep. Shiro leans his head against the edge of the window and lets his hand ride waves of air, up and down. After about half an hour, Keith pulls to the side of the road. 

“We’re stopping?” 

“Yeah, there’s something I wanna show you.” 

“Okay…?”

“Here, put on this blindfold.” Keith produces a folded bandana from his pocket.

“No offense, Keith, you know I’d trust you with my life, but like. You want me. To walk on a dirt road in the countryside without my eyes?” 

Keith rolls his own eyes, rather spectacularly. “Fine--I’ll carry you, you big baby.” 

“Done.” They get out of the car and Shiro secures the blindfold. 

“Who’s Daddy now?” Keith teases as Shiro clambers onto his back. 

“Don’t drop me, Daddy,” Shiro deadpans. “Why don’t you just focus on the walk?” 

“We’re going up a hill, so don’t freak out if you feel like you’re slipping.” 

“No promises.” 

“Shiro, please. We do  _ races  _ like this at the station sometimes.” 

“I could’ve  _ sworn  _ I heard you complaining about your back not a week ago.” 

“I’m just gonna start going now.” 

Unable to watch the landscape go by, Shiro loses track of all time, focusing instead on the feeling of Keith’s back beneath his thighs, the flex and pull of his husband’s muscles, the feeling of the wind on his face and in his hair. It’s a pleasant, balmy summer night and the grass rustles almost sensuously as Keith wades through it. The perfect night to watch stars, Shiro muses, laying his cheek against the back of Keith’s neck. 

“Okay, we’re here.” Keith lets Shiro slide off his back before untying the blindfold and spinning him around shyly. 

They are standing in a clearing surrounded by thistle and sage brush, high enough to feel close to the sky, but isolated and sheltered. In the center of the clearing stands their tent, lit from within by glowing lanterns. Keith’s marked a path to the tent with a double row of water bottles filled with fireflies. 

“Is this spot okay?” Keith asks, almost anxiously. “I know it’s not the flattest place, but I thought the view was still pretty goo--” Shiro cuts him off with a crushing hug. 

“It’s perfect.” 

“You like it?” 

“I love it--you did this this afternoon?” 

Keith scuffs the toe of his sneaker against the dirt. “Yeah. I just...wanted to do something for you, I guess. Since you’re sharing this with me. To let you know...I don’t know. Anyway--we should probably let the fireflies go now. They’ve been here for awhile.” 

Shiro ignores this transparent attempt to change the subject and nods his agreement, saying little else while they empty the jars and bottles and watch the collective light swell and disperse. Keith’s face is illuminated momentarily, and Shiro marvels at how the landscape seems to mirror him so completely in its wild beauty, its hidden light and fierceness. How he got so lucky, he may never know. 

Inside, the tent is setup as usual--although “usual” would imply that they go camping often, which is false. Shiro grabs his bedroll and flips it around, dragging it halfway out of the tent. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m gonna watch the stars for a bit.” 

“Oh.” Keith turns his own sleeping bag. “There, now we can pretend we’re high schoolers again.” 

“We never did this in high school.” 

“Only because you were too busy dating girls and getting a 4.0.” 

“ _ And  _ you weren’t interested.” 

“I was always interested, Shiro.” 

“No, you were running around being a delinquent with Axca.” 

“That, too,” Keith chuckles. And then: “Damn, it’s so clear out here without all the light pollution.” 

  
“Mm,” Shiro agrees. Above them, the sky is a cityscape seen from above, a mass of twinkling lights. But unlike a city, it’s quiet and still, and Shiro finds himself drifting off, despite the nap. Keith rolls onto his side to face him. “Too bad we forgot condoms.” 

“Wow, you sure know how to ruin the mood.” 

Keith just laughs. “Baby, I  _ make  _ the mood.”

“...I’m gonna go back to thinking about the wonders of the universe and how amazing it is that we are here together despite how small the odds are that both of us would even have been born, let alone in the same time and space, and all that romantic stuff. You keep your horny little hands to yourself.”    
  


Keith snuggles up to Shiro’s side, spooning him from behind. “Okay.” 

\---

The next day they wake with the sun and pack quickly; a line of cars is already visible, approaching the base of the hill as various contingents of eclipse-chasers come to stake out their spots. While Keith drives back into town for coffee and pastries, Shiro texts his friends, letting them know where he’s set up. Lance and Pidge respond almost immediately: 

_ Llura n I oow just tryn 2 find parking  _

_ think ill b there in like 20 the water in my rooms broken so i havent showered yet ://// also matt says hi  _

Hunk just snaps Shiro a picture of his grin, with the caption “hype/30 min.” Shiro paces around the clearing, making sure that everything’s in position: the two camping chairs and pairs protective glasses, water, sunscreen, his camera--the only thing missing is Keith, who comes over the rise of the hill just then, bearing two disposable cups of coffee and a brown paper bag. “Ah, sustenance,” says Shiro, making grabby hands for the bag. 

“Cops first,” admonishes Keith with a grin, withdrawing a chocolate-covered doughnut. “Don’t worry,” he adds before Shiro can say anything, “I got you the healthiest option.” 

They sit in silence, Keith bouncing his leg nervously, Shiro alternating between bites of his banana bran muffin and checking his phone. Just he stands up to brush the crumbs from his lap and resume pacing, they hear a yell. 

“Shiro! Buddy! We made it!” The voice accompanies a very tall, very tanned young man, who holds the hand of an equally tall and tanned woman. They jog up the last stretch of hill and the woman embraces Shiro. 

“It’s so good to see you again,” she says in a crisp British accent. “It feels like it’s been ages!” Then she turns her huge blue eyes on Keith. “And you must be Keith! We’ve  _ so _ been looking forward to meeting you! I’m Allura, and this is Lance.” To Keith’s great relief, she makes no move to hug him, merely extending her hand. Her boyfriend sidles over to Keith, looks him up and down, and thrusts his own hands into his pockets with a smirk.

“Nice hair.” He doesn’t sound like he means it. 

Keit narrows his eyes. “Thank you?” 

“Excuse me--” Lance rummages around in his jacket and withdraws his phone. “I think I’m getting a call.” They all stare at the obviously silent phone while Lance pretends to answer it. “Hello? Oh--Keith, it’s for you. It’s the 80s. They want that mullet back.” 

“ _ Lance. _ ” Keith can practically feel the heat of Allura’s scorching glare. “ _ Don’t be rude. _ I’m so sorry, Keith, he was dropped on his head as a child. Personally, I like your hair. It’s very... sexy-vampire.” 

There’s a beat of silence, then Shiro clears his throat. “Okay! Well, uh, I think Pidge should be here soon--did you hear that the water in her hotel wasn’t working?” 

Allura clucks sympathetically. “Poor girl--that’s  _ so  _ annoying. We actually just flew in this morning, but we’ve booked a room at her hotel for the night. I hope they’ve fixed the problem by then.” 

“Hey, I’m just glad we know Pidge showers now,” cracks Lance. “That’s a step up from college.” 

“Just because Pidge  _ actually studied _ in school doesn’t mean she didn’t have time for personal hygiene,” Allura retorts.

“Come on, Allura, Lance’s plenty smart,” says Shiro.

“What are we judging against--the  _ People  _ magazine fashion police?” growls Keith, still ruffled by Lance’s jibe. 

“Oh, go cry at the disco!” sneers Lance. 

Before they can really start in on each other, three people appear over the hill. “Hey guys!” calls Pidge, waving with one hand and adjusting her glasses with the other. 

“Hunk!” screams Lance, dropping the argument completely and sprinting across the grass towards the huge man behind Pidge. “My guy!” The two embrace tightly, Lance’s skinny frame almost entirely engulfed by Hunk’s enormous arms. The woman behind him, a quiet-looking sort with curious, yellow-y eyes hugs Allura and Shiro awkwardly. 

“It’s good to meet you,” she says, “Hunk’s told me so much about all of you!” 

“You, too,” Shiro greets her warmly. And then: “This is my husband, Keith.” 

Shay hugs Keith as well, though it’s much less unpleasant than he was anticipating. He senses a kindred soul in her, someone equally shy and reticent. Plus, she smells like cinnamon sugar cookies. 

After the pleasantries are exchanged and they have rehashed their travel stories and inquired about the other people that they see occasionally on the celestial circuit, they settle into waiting, and the talk turns towards everyone’s significant others. 

“So, Keith, remind me again how you met Shiro?” Allura inquires.    
  


He starts, put on the spot. “Uh, well. It’s not that interesting, really. Shiro had a position working as a graduate student assistant for one of my professors back in college. We’d see each other a lot going in and out of her office, and eventually we learned each other’s names and he asked me to have coffee sometime. Pretty cliche, I guess.” 

“Aw, that’s so storybook!” she exclaims. “How romantic.”

“Well, let’s not forget how you and  _ I _ met,” Lance interjects. “It was the night after finals were done first semester, and I was dancing at this place on campus, when all the sudden they announced this couples dance thing. Winners got free refills for the rest of the night. I didn’t have a date, but then the lights went down and the crowd parted and I saw the most gorgeous girl in the universe just standing there. I asked her if she wanted free beer and the best dance of her life, and she said yes--” 

“Because I was already drunk--”   


“--And I literally swept her off her feet.” 

“Did anyone else puke in their mouths, or was it just me?” asks Pidge, rolling her eyes.

“Nah, that was cute!” says Hunk, slapping Lance on the back. “Lover-boy Lance strikes again.” 

“You’re definitely better than any of his other girlfriends,” Pidge acknowledges. “I can see why he wants to put a ring on it.” 

Lance turns beet red, but doesn’t deny it; Allura smiles down at her hands. 

“Shay, what about you and Hunk?” askes Shiro.    
  


Hunk squeezes her hand and she smiles up at him. “I work at the bakery that he comes to for lunch.” 

“Oh, that must be why you smell so good,” says Keith, before he can check himself. 

Shay just giggles. “Probably. I’m glad you think so.” 

“Shay’s being modest,” says Hunk proudly. “She  _ owns  _ the bakery that I like, and their cinnamon cookies are so good that I would come in everyday and beg for the recipe. She only gave it to me after we started dating, though.” 

“I needed to make sure you’d keep coming back!” 

Everyone laughs at that. 

“Hey--guys, it’s about to start,” warns Pidge, checking her watch. Sure enough, as they slip on their special glasses and turn towards the sky, Keith can see a hint of shadow on the sun’s surface. The hum of chatter on the hill rises and falls with growing intensity as other spectators don their own glasses and raise their cameras. Shiro grips Keith’s hand as inch-by-inch, minute-by-minute, darkness crawls across the face of the sun. It’s incredible, to witness something so powerful, so important, being swallowed and made small. He loses track of the time, leaning his head on Shiro’s shoulder and watching in awe. It makes him feel at once lost and connected, inconsequential and integral to the universe. 

Or maybe that’s all bullshit that he just wants to believe. 

  
It doesn’t really matter, when it comes down to it, what he’s feeling, or how. The only thing that matters is that he’s there with Shiro and that they are watching history and it’s a perfect summer day. This, more than anything, is what he knows he will remember. After what feels like a small eternity, the eclipse is total. Blackness envelopes the hill; the pseudo-night more disconcerting than Keith was prepared for. It feels like reality turned on its head, and he can see why ancient civilizations took eclipses to be a sign of the apocalypse. But then the corona flares out, brilliant and Biblical, a halo against the dark. It’s...stunning, powerful, inspiring….Keith doesn’t have the words to describe it, nor does he care to. Everything feels strangely removed, from the click of the cameras, to the feeling of the chair beneath his legs. Inexplicably, he feels himself start to cry. 

\---

Lunch is a quiet affair. Shiro and his friends wear identical starstruck expressions, and even Lance has shut up in favor of reflection. They end up waiting for thirty minutes for a table at the hamburger joint downtown--everything’s clogged by their fellow tourists. No one seems to mind. As the spell wears off, little-by-little, and people come to, they trade stories of their first eclipses and reminisce about the beginning of their friendships. Keith and Shay hang back, but he has to admit that things are nowhere near as awkward as he had thought they would be. He likes this motley group; it’ll be sad to leave. 

But leave they must, and as the final tip is calculated and napkins crumpled, they bid their goodbyes, dry-eyed, used to the parting. 

Keith and Shiro do a last check of their luggage and pile into their beat-up car for the ride home. Shiro drives, Keith navigates. They don’t talk much. It’s sad, this sense of deflation, of an ending come too soon. But then again, the travel was fun, the food was good, the eclipse was stunning--and really, what more could Keith ask for? Looking at his husband’s profile in the now-returned afternoon light, he knows the answer: nothing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Shout-out to my lovely beta @CaptainDad <3 Thank you sooooo much for reading!


End file.
